


if you really want to conjure up a ghost

by walksbyherself



Category: Black Swan (2010)
Genre: Community: sharp_teeth, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 10:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/584613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walksbyherself/pseuds/walksbyherself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the dancers have left.  (Not out of sadness for Nina; mostly superstition.  The show is cursed.  The company is cursed.  Beth, and then Nina, and who is next?  Not me, they say, not me.)  </p>
<p>The replacements are brutally trained up, but the real pressure is on Lily and everyone knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you really want to conjure up a ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [Macabre March Madness](http://sharp-teeth.livejournal.com/6347.html?thread=1323723#t1323723)

The company takes a week off--out of respect, Thomas says, as if he ever respected her--but they can’t afford to change the program. The costumes have been made, the set constructed.

“Please, Lily,” he says. “You’re the only one who can do this. For the company.” He doesn’t call her his little princess. He doesn’t dare.

They take another week to rehearse. Some of the dancers have left. (Not out of sadness for Nina; mostly superstition. The show is cursed. The company is cursed. Beth, and then Nina, and who is next? Not me, they say, not me.) The replacements are brutally trained up, but the real pressure is on Lily and everyone knows it.

 

Lily dances the black swan like she’s trying to erase the memory of Nina from everyone’s mind. She is fierce and aloof and alluring; everyone watches her, hating how they love her. Thomas circles her in the rehearsal room, looking for flaws or vulnerable places to put his teeth.

“Good,” he says at last. “Very good.”

Dancing the white swan is harder than she thought. Nina always made it look easy, delicate like a music box ballerina. Lily just looks nervous. She watches Thomas’ frown get deeper until she stumbles and falls. Someone laughs. It sounds like Nina.

 

Lily stays late to practice, picking her way through Act Two a step at a time. She hums the music, hisses the counts under her breath. She tries to be fragile, intrigued, afraid. That is when the lights go out.

“I’m still here!” she shouts, voice echoing in the space.

The lights come back on. In the mirror, Nina is dancing the black swan _pas de deux_ behind her.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, flashing a smile from behind blood-red lips. “I’m just better than you.”

Thirty two perfect _fouettés en tournant_. Lily counts them all.

 

The next day, Nina is at rehearsal. She stays in the corner, silent, arms folded. Lily can’t stop looking at her, doesn’t stop until Thomas snaps his fingers an inch from her face and bellows at her in French. Why is she not focused, does she not remember how little time they have, would she like someone else to dance the white swan for her?

Nina’s shoulders shake with laughter, one pale hand pressed over her mouth.

At the water break, Nina slides up behind her, whispering advice in her ear. “Your carriage is wrong. The white swan is always afraid, but it is a queen’s fear. She is not strong; that doesn’t make her weak--”

“Leave me alone!” When Lily turns around, Nina is already gone. The other dancers turn away.

 

Lily does not sleep well that night. She dreams that she is dancing the prologue. Instead of Rothbart, it’s Nina waiting for her, wrapped in a cape of glossy black feathers. Nina takes her by the hand, guides her to the edge of the stage. “If you were really the swan queen,” she whispers, lips brushing Lily’s ear, “you could fly.” She pushes Lily into the orchestra pit.

Lily wakes up, gasping for breath, and stares at a room she doesn’t recognize. Her clothes are strewn everywhere, all the drawers of her dresser pulled out. She can’t find any of her black leotards, only the white one that she saves for laundry day. She pulls her filthy hair up into a bun and runs to the subway station.

She makes it to the rehearsal room with a minute to spare. Thomas turns around when the door opens. He makes it as far as “good morning”; he stops before he can say the wrong name.

Nina is back in the corner, chin held high and haughty. Lily wilts steadily under the pressure of her stare, until she’s flinching from the prince and practically fleeing across the room back to Rothbart.

She jumps when Thomas puts a hand on her shoulder. “Beautiful,” he says. Lily turns away, looking for Nina. Nina is looking at the floor and frowning.

 

Lily doesn’t have the energy to clean up when she gets home. She kicks through the piles of clothes until she reaches her bed and curls up beneath the covers. Nina is already there, waiting for her.

“I don’t like it when we fight,” she whispers. “I just want you to be perfect.”

“I know,” Lily says.

Nina’s hands are cold.

 

There are not very many private dressing rooms to be had, so Lily gets Nina’s along with all her other inheritances. The broken mirror has been replaced. Sitting on the dressing table are a pair of diamond earrings.

Nina’s smile flickers in the mirror. “For luck,” she says.

 

It’s opening night. Lily’s costume and hair are a struggle, refusing to lay how they should. By the time she gets to her makeup, she’s running out of both patience and time.

“Here. Let me.” Nina curls her fingers under Lily’s chin, tipping her head back. She takes the sponge delicately out of Lily’s hand and starts smoothing the makeup over her cheekbones.

“Close your eyes.” She brushes shadow over Lily’s eyelids with her fingertips. She adds mascara, quick flicks of the brush, before taking a step back to look at her work. “One more thing.”

Nina’s kiss is all teeth and control. Lily yields, back arching against the sure pressure of Nina’s hand. Nina steps back so suddenly that Lily staggers; Nina turns her to face the mirror with a hand still on her waist. Lily’s color is high beneath the white paint, her mouth flushed a bitten pink.

“Look at you,” Nina says. “Perfect.”

There is a hurried knock at the door; Thomas opens it without waiting for permission. “Are you ready?”

Both girls smile.

Nina says, “Yes.”

Lily says, “We are.”


End file.
